


Due to the Dead

by hapakitsune



Category: Ocean's (Movies)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Implied Relationships, Post-Canon, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 19:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: Debbie said, flatly, “You son of a bitch.”From behind her, Danny said, “Now, now, is that any way to talk about our mother?”





	Due to the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately post final frame. Also Lou and Debbie are girlfriends forever.

Debbie set her glass down on the bench beside her, gazing at the letters of her brother’s name carved into the marble. How he had conned his way into this cemetery was really the biggest mystery of them all, she thought. Or maybe he’d purchased the damn thing years ago, a weird sort of triumph over all the clawing they’d had to do to get away from their sordid family roots. Danny Ocean, buried among the wealthiest of the wealthy, with his name engraved in gold.

“It was a good con,” she said after a moment. “Ran smooth as I could have wanted, though I guess I didn’t predict Daphne. But there was room for that.” She ran her fingers along the edge of her glass, making it sing briefly, then dropped her hand to her lap. “John was the one assigned to the case. You’d have loved it, seeing him. God. One day, I swear I’ll turn him.”

She reached for her glass again, but her fingers instead met air. She paused, not looking around, and instead let her hand rest gently against the wood. There was a slight cool spot where the glass had rested; she took a deep breath, her heart thrumming hard in her chest. She hadn’t heard anyone come in, but then, if it was him—if it was him—

There was a performatively loud sip from behind her. “Heavier on the vermouth than I’d go,” said her brother’s voice. “But I suppose you always did prefer more than me.”

Debbie sat in silence for a moment, staring at Danny’s name, then said, flatly, “You son of a bitch.”

“Now, now, is that any way to talk about our mother?” The glass met her fingers again, and a moment later Danny slid onto the bench beside her, the line of his profile coming into her peripheral vision. “The woman raised you and all that.”

Debbie curled her fingers around the stem her drink, lifted it, and drained the rest in a single swallow. Danny had taken the olive. “It seems news of your death was greatly exaggerated,” she said, still refusing to look at him.

“I am Lazarus, come from the dead,” Danny said. “Here but by the grace of god.”

“By the grace of something, anyway,” Debbie muttered, and finally she turned to look at him. There he was: her older brother. He was looking at her expectantly, one eyebrow cocked. Handsome as ever, completely silver now, and deeply tanned, his teeth shockingly white in comparison as he smiled with that _aw shucks, I didn’t_ mean _to steal that watch_ smile. “Mexico?”

“Indonesia, currently,” he said. “Beautiful beaches.”

“Who else knows?” 

“Rusty,” which, of course, “and Tess.”

That one was a surprise. “You’re together again?”

“In a manner of speaking. The three of us are renting a house together. Extra large bed.”

Debbie took a moment to sort that out in her head. “Ah. How modern of you.” She wanted to say something cutting, something that would hurt him, maybe, because seeing him here, alive and solid was almost as much of a slap in the face as hearing he’d died. But though she was angry--furious, really--she was so, dammit, _happy_ to see his stupid face.

She held out another twenty, maybe thirty seconds, until his smile wavered, and then she grabbed him into a fierce hug, inhaling the familiar smell of his cologne, the one he had stolen a bottle of when he was fifteen and hidden in her room. He hugged her back, encircling her, and though Debbie had been glad to see Tammy and Amita and loved the team they had built, nothing could really compare to seeing her big brother again.

Though she couldn’t just let him off the hook. She pulled back and slapped the back of his head. He yelled and flinched away, looking aggrieved and rubbing at the spot. Debbie raised her eyebrows and stared him down. “Couldn’t send a letter to tell your baby sister you weren’t six feet under?”

“You were in federal prison, Deb, what was I supposed to do? Send a messenger pigeon in the night?”

“That would have worked,” Debbie said. “Or just asked someone to pass a message along.”

“Couldn’t risk it. I’ve pressed my luck too far, I had to get out of the country before it ran out.” 

She smacked him again, this time on the ear. “Then what the hell are you doing here?” 

“Ow! Jesus, Deb--look, the heat’s died down a bit and besides, I’d heard about some crazy stunt some crew here pulled at the Met Gala, you don’t happen to know anything about it, do you?” He flashed her a grin. “Sounded like a pretty slick group.”

“They’re okay,” Debbie said. “Could use a bit of polish, but all things considered, they did themselves proud.”

“Any idea what they’re up to now?” 

Debbie cast him a look, narrow-eyed. “Who’s asking?”

“A reformed thief who misses his sister,” Danny said. “And wants to come home.”

Debbie chewed on the inside of her lip, debating. The girls had scattered, as well they should have—it wasn’t a team built to last, but a team built for a specific job, and that job was done. But she recalled sitting in the loft after the job was done, drinking and joking cheerfully, and she remembered seeing that hungry look in their eyes—yes, even in Rose’s. They had gotten a taste of the life, and they wanted more. 

“I’ll have to run it past Lou,” Debbie said. 

“Yes, how is she? I always liked that girl. Have you made an honest woman of her yet?”

“Lou will never be an honest girl,” Debbie said. “But—I’m considering it.” 

“Oh yeah?” Danny flashed her a grin. “Unlike Tess I think she’d actually appreciate a stolen ring, so you’re in better shape than I was.”

“Already got a line on that,” Debbie said. “We didn’t sell _all_ the diamonds.”

“Clever girl.” Danny took a slip of paper from the inside of his jacket pocket and passed it over. “This is the job. I’ll be staying at our old place, you know the one.”

“Yeah.” Debbie unfolded the paper, took a look, and then reached into her purse for the rest of the gin. “Jesus, Danny. So much for being out of the game.”

“We can never be out,” Danny said. “We both know that.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “It’s good to see you. You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” Debbie said. “I love you too, you idiot. And if you ever fake your death again without telling me, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Duly noted,” Danny said. “Pass that gin, will you?” 

She did so and watched as he measured out a new martini, extra dry. He handed her the glass first with a raised eyebrow. With a small smile, she tapped her glass against the shaker and raised it to him in a silent toast.


End file.
